


Hearten

by everybreathagift



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Confessions, I just need Mickey to be loved and protected okay, Insecurity, M/M, it's a thing, reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:34:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreathagift/pseuds/everybreathagift
Summary: Late night confessions and a whole lotta sap.





	Hearten

**Author's Note:**

> So, basically, @itsnotforsalefrancis over on Tumblr had me all in my feeling about how Mickey spent so much of his life being told that he was trash and all we really want is for him to be loved and cherished and protected. Like he deserves. This happened and I don't really feel any better about it but, you know. Can someone rescue me from this salt cave I'm trapped in? 
> 
> Not beta-ed. Just thrown up here.

“Tell me something, Mick.” 

“Go to fuckin’ sleep.”

Ian laughs and bites at Mickey’s bare shoulder, then pokes at his ribs until Mickey jerks. He’d never admit it, but he’s fucking ticklish.

“Ay, not the fuckin’ ribs, asshole. Christ, why are you awake?” Mickey groans, finally moving from his stomach to face Ian.

It’s dark, but the light coming through the blinds is enough to illuminate Mickey’s face. He’s got that grumpy look creasing his eyebrows, his full lips turned down a bit and his eyes closed. Ian loves him painfully.

“You let me sleep until eleven this morning.”

“Yeah, well,” Mickey mutters, finally squinting his eyes open and slinging his arm over Ian’s side. “Why the fuck do I gotta suffer for your bad choices?”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Ian whispers, pushing close and breathing deep. Mickey always smells best after he’s slept. “Tell me the worst thing you’ve ever done.”

Mickey finally opens his eyes, and Ian watches, enraptured, as his entire being softens. He cups Ian’s cheek, and he looks concerned. “You feelin’ alright?”

Ian smiles softly and presses into his hand. “I’m okay. No mood swings, promise. I was just thinking about all the things we probably don’t know about each other.”

“So, just bein’ a fag again?”

“Fuck off,” Ian laughs. “Tell me.”

Mickey sighs and looks down, pressing his thumb to his bottom lip. “You first.”

Ian expected that but it still makes him a little sad. He doesn’t want Mickey to feel like anything he could ever say would make Ian look at him differently. That’s partially why Ian wants to do this.

“I stole money out of a mother’s purse,” Ian says. “Monica had run off with our last bit of food and cash and it was the dead of winter. Heat was gonna get shut off. I had two bucks and went to the store for a pack of noodles for Carl and I saw this woman leave her purse in the cart. Went to change the little boy’s diaper I think. So, I reached in stole her wallet. Made it out with like a hundred bucks.”

“You stole a wallet.”

“I had her ID. Almost brought it back to her house but…” Ian shrugs a little.

Mickey is silent for about three seconds before he groans. “You stole a fuckin’ wallet, man. You serious? There’s nothing worse than that?”

“She had a kid and I took what was probably her last bit of money,” he explains. “ Your turn.”

Mickey gets quiet again and is doing everything he can to avoid Ian’s eyes. Ian nudges him a little, smiling a little when Mickey looks up at him finally. “Come on. Did you murder someone? Because I wouldn’t even be surprised by that.” 

Mickey chuckles. “Fuck you, man, no. I’ve never murdered anyone.” Then he gets serious again and rolls on his back, staring up at the ceiling and pressing his knuckles to his eyes for a second. “Nah, I, uh- I helped my dad bury a body.”

“Yeah?” Ian whispers, trying to keep the words neutral and gripping Mickey’s hand in his own.

“Yeah. She was, uh- like, one of his side pieces or somethin’. I think. Told me she died of an overdose and didn’t want the cops comin’ after him for the stash but… I knew. Overdosin’ doesn’t give you two black eyes and a broken arm.”

Ian clenches his teeth and wishes he could kill Terry himself. A thought he has at least once a day.

“How old were you?”

“Just made fifteen. It was three days after my fuckin’ birthday.”

Mickey still isn’t looking at him, choosing to keep his eyes focused on the ceiling so Ian pushes closer and rests his head on Mickey’s pillow.

“I’m sorry.”

Mickey sniffs. “Don’t pity me, just as much my fault as his. I could’ve easily gone to the fuckin’ cops and I didn’t.”

“You were a kid.”

“No one’s a kid at fifteen around here. I’d been doing fuckin’ solo runs and shit for him for a full year by that point.”

“You’re a good person, Mick,” Ian says, leaning in closer to press a gentle kiss to Mickey’s cheek.

He expects the statement to be brushed off, because Mickey is shit at accepting compliments, but instead, Mickey turns his head and with their faces so close, Ian can see that his eyes are little wet.

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Ian swears, kissing him softly. “You’re the best person I’ve ever met.” When Mickey doesn’t respond, Ian jumps at the chance to continue. “You’re sweet and caring. You’re loyal to everyone that matters and you love fiercely. You love me, despite… everything. You’re good.”

Mickey closes his eyes and releases a shaky breath. “Done a lot of fucked up shit.”

“Everyone’s done a lot of fucked up shit. Doesn’t change what I just said. I know you worry about being like him but… Mick, you couldn’t be if you tried. Your heart is bigger than most of the assholes around here put together. You’re better than all of this.”

Mickey keeps his eyes closed but he reaches up and puts his hand on Ian’s cheek, thumb stroking back and forth as he breathes deep.

Ian kisses him once more, then grins. “And while you’re graciously accepting compliments, let me sing you this song I wrote about your ass.”

When Mickey smiles wide and finally looks at Ian again, he knows he broke the tension. “Fuck you, your voice is terrible.”

“Okay, but what about the poem I wrote about your eyes?”

“You can’t rhyme for shit.”

“The book about your smell?”

“Bitch, you don’t even- wait. How I smell?”

“Mhmm,” Ian says, smirking. “It’s all… Mickey. Just- you know, how you smell. Without colognes and shit. I like how you smell.”

“Always knew you were a fuckin’ creeper.”

“Oh, you think that’s creepy, you should hear what I think about your lips.”

“Get the fuck outta here,” Mickey laughs and Ian can tell he’s blushing. He rolls over and pulls Ian’s arm to wrap around his stomach, settling with their fingers still locked. There’s another moment of silence, then Mickey whispers, “Still love me?”

Ian buries his face in Mickey’s neck, choosing to ignore the irrational anger he feels for Terry once again. “That’s a stupid fucking question. Of course I do.”

“I know,” Mickey responds quietly, tightening his grip on Ian’s hand. “You’re better than all this, too, you know?”

Ian feels his chest fill up and expand, like it could actually burst. All he can do is nod against Mickey’s neck, and kiss it one more time. “Get some sleep, Mick.”

“Oh,  _ now _ you wanna fuckin’ let me sleep.”

“Yeah, grumpy. Remember,” Ian says with a smile, “you’re on breakfast duty in the morning.”

Ian’s pretty sure Mickey is still coming up with new curses when he falls asleep, happy and so very in love.   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed the sappiest IxM fic I'll ever write!


End file.
